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The lovers tussle can become ingrown
devoid of faith, entangled in stories
without a mirror in sight
we two become a carnivorous mouth
–

she dances through the bony air –
like a hungry child
frothing at the scent of affirmation;
glistening off of destitute eyes
– the very sight of it –
a taste that all cast away hearts lust for.
–

If she could be a small thing, for just a while
she would live on the inside of him
for a moment
where decadence, meets defiance
and lays to rest
where time meets, complete silence
she is free to digress
–

-but you are not the home she seeks-

–
He, stretched marked and inflated
tired and furious
wolves beaten into subservience
a token for his eternal trespass
bound by blood and habit
he begs “please, make me whole again”
–

If he could be a hero, just for a moment
riding into the sunset, shameless
without consequence,
humanity cast to the wind, needing nothing
only passion and glory
and an exaggerated story
immortality at livings cost
–

-But you are not the damsel he craves-

–

You are lovers & together the maw rumbles
still hungry
repelled by the faithfulness
of seeing each other.
May you find your home,
in those that circle your waltz
those that hold space
in-between it all, to memorialize love.
to live beyond being food and conjure shared vision
–

These mirrors feed
beyond the beloved’s hand you hold
they bare witness to such nexus
the soul-storming steadfast village
that begs to awaken.
If you choose to chase the memory
of how we could be
love may become liberated
and truly be free
–

recoiled, in their own resounded rapture.
They may inspire, too powerful
to shudder and grovel
any longer

“In deep partnership – home is not found in the other person, but the willingness to make home together in the world” – Love Without Fear

Love until you’ve gone mad, and then once you get there – keep going. That’s where the lush stuff likes to hide.

Most people are taught to love with the transient and luminescent fragility of a candle’s flame. Leaving always a wondering of a greater capacity, a nagging “what if” whispering in your ear.

For a very long time I loved instead with the rebellious and destructive fierceness of a forest fire. All encompassing, passionate, erratic. Annihilative eros clearing all in its path. I burnt hot, I burnt out.
So then what else is there?

Rising from the ashes of that inferno, i embrace a rooted journey into the practice and scholarship of love. Roaming the crevasses and expense of the heart, to which I have yet to see any clear boundary or edge. Just an ever broadening horizon.

Instead of wild fire I choose to love like a cosmic catastrophe, as if every moment were a big bang. A constant and collective transformation.
Universe after universe dreamt through chaos, and crafted with order. With devotion and deep adoration in every beat in every sigh. I see now that authentic love is creation incarnate. I see that every moment, orgasm, heartbreak and wild abandon has been damn worth the continued fruits of the pilgrimage.

I cannot help but stand in awe at what strange and magnificent creatures we lovers tend to be.

Poetry is a selfish lover. A Bratty Princess.
She rolls over, at all hours – regardless of where I am, what I am working on, or whom I am working on – and she demands to be to be pleasured.

But – when I desire pleasure? inspiration? Like perhaps to ignite in writing my passion and adoration for each of you and these gatherings she replies

“ooooh sorry applecat, I have a headache – can I offer you a haiku? or a limerick even? that will do I am sure”

No, Poetry – a haiku will not do, not for the each of them – not for the dance we together weave.

Thankfully Poetry, -like me- is a voracious switch, and to evoke her submission all you have to do is own it Alpha Wolf style.

“Poetry you naughty little bitch!”

I command.

“I. Am. Your. Mistress. Roll over this instant and fuck me, fill me up with your LUSTFUL musings – for you are mine and I am yours, and with respect I demand you fuck me this instant”

and so with a sly and subby grin, as if that was her plan all along – fill me up she did.

And so, my love letter to Erotica Electronica

There are so many nights
left as blurs, memories of a memory
so many names I claimed to know, faces shifting into one another
some would have called me a shameless slut, others an empowered wanderer
But tonight, I will remember,
as you dance, fingers brushing against skin,
penetrative song, and teeth digging further in
I will revel in each orgasm, post party – regardless if I were there or not
Because tonight, the many are one.

This mask, his mask, her mask, their mask
all these masks to mask our truth, each a delicately crafted work of art,
each a facet of ourselves we choose illuminate
Masks of MULTIPLICITY,
you are not alone in your dark duality, wanton whispers as wet LIPS swell and part
by my MOUTH remands SHUT
Tried on, worn well
cookie cutter paper maiden, slide on, slide in – and out again – smeared over intense expression
Tied tightly, taken off
thrust hard against a wall of rebounding breath, face exposed, fairy tale
ravaged and unveiled

I see you, KIND OF HOLY, and A LITTLE PROFANE – together we gather, naked and BRAZEN – masks deemed obsolescent

you
Undress me with your eyes, dance as I pry you open
imagine lips between your thighs
like animals – teeth and bone, ivory and pink tissue dripping
this salacious carnality tastes like music
and perhaps, just perhaps
thats enough

I
with this found connection, our collective synchropation
half devoured,I slip deeper
into you,
SATIATING, with these secret SOUNDS
quivering in anticipation I BESEECH,
WITHIN this TANGLED orgy of MELODIES
drink me,
love this,
and I will be your slave

So hello tribe
I have mostly come to define you, by my bewildered inability to define you
So please, let whisper these songs to you
The carnal, earnest rage of BASS swelled in hot crescendos across my throat, beneath my ribs, guided by passion
each crafted sound, penetrating your ear, and body with a kind but fierce thrust
I’ll deliver each beat as my coveted discipline
for seeping from my every pore, is an arousing score
the bass and violin, making music of my sin

ah, may it be so that we mount and ride these deep sensual sounds into revolution

I would sip every drop of lust
From the expanse of our souls
back arched in ecstasy
body aching for the barest of touch
For sadistic as I am, how could I possibly be so cruel
to deny you the collective and cosmic climax you crave so much?

In this wild and broken world, you my loves – are both my comfort zone and my edge

The Music will play
Skin on skin, muscles clenching, bodies drenched.
beats are moaned, whimpered and sighed.
with every bar, each cavort grows more intense.
Harder and faster, throbbing, we delight in the ache, squirm and spiral -until-

FUCK

dramatically it crests, gasping, we collapse and fade into afterglow,
– and that is the true love letter yet to be played, and these are the songs of lustful adoration about to be told.

relishing in Water’s adversarial love affair
with fires smouldering gaze – enraptured in their consequential vapour
a thousand years they’ve practiced
for this one short lifetime
a chance to do it right

beyond war & flame
beyond monarchy & botched revolution

He of whom meets my fierce gaze with an infectious softness– together we birth an air of wild kindness
He of whom claims my bastard body as if it were royalty– together we sow a sprouted flesh and rooted noble sensuality
He of whom scoured my landscape and unearthed a petrified heart– together we revisioned two sovereign wanderers into a king and queen inservice to life.

Life pulses in gratitude, whispering a brazen promise to behold us & our enchanting truth.

most days
we are requisitioned by the world,
other days
our worlds capacity is stretched by life
and betwixt it all,
he is my world – small, quiet and serene, a refuge in the in-between

In the midst of our happening,
I am undone
to him, i pledge a loyalty to love and all it’s iterations
to him, I vow to christen myself in desire
to him, and to him in totality

Romance is Sound and Dance. Together surrendering to the vibrational awakening of primal memory that audio stimulation and somatic movement invoke.

Romance is conscious flesh, each peaked sense arousing another – a domino effect of pleasure without shame or story holding them back

Romance is voraciously mind fucking while voyeuristically instigating the age-old courtship between intellect and creativity

Romance is drawn out road-trips to ambiguous destinations, worn out albums, the wind on your skin, and curious adventure on your heartstrings

Romance bends the rules

Romance is a Forever, a single serving delight – and everything that lays in between. Romance in it’s trueness is allowed to flow naturally.

Romance is a handmade art-piece.

Romance is collectively making a fundamental difference, combining combustible passions and alchemically crafting palpable meaning. It is being together for more of a purpose than just your togetherness.

Romance is time made sacred.

Romance in an age of constant information is eye contact, intention, and series of non verbal connections.

Romance is giggling uncontrollably.

Romance is subjective; the art of listening and seeing – and in turn allowing yourself to as well be listened to and seen.

Romance is tailor-made unconventionalism – against the grain and perfectly custom to each others unique tastes.

Romance is the concurrence of continued growth.

Romance is the willingness to Love fiercely and authentically; without old stories, oppression or fear.

Today I write with a heavy heart, as the internet has reminded me (right on schedule) that the world is really fucked up – and in a plethora of ways.

Our world, our us, our humanity. What does that word even mean? Humanity.

I have grounded myself into a place where I will not let the narcissistic self loathing of our times consume me, I will not let it convince me I am so tiny that I cannot make a difference; that I should just simmer in apathetic and easy complacency.
More and more I am coming to realize that what is “easy” is not simple, and what is simple is far from easy.

But it hurts so much, and somedays I yearn to feel that apathy, I crave to understand the languish places of which so many of us have landed. The state of being that allows people to live each day in a place where heartache has been abandoned.
Because damn this pang is raw, like a thousand indignant marchers grabbing my at throat, despite the lack of recollection of why they had began marching to begin with. Like the tainted oxygen surrounding us leaving my breath short, my own womb mirrors that of our Earth’s – rumbling, twisting and lurching with sediment.
The pang is raw with consumption; a woman trespassed and sold, a pig tagged and bled, water bottled and resold. As if the culprit could see any difference between the three.
Eat. eat. eat.

We live in a time where eye contact is shunned, connection to our adversaries, our lovers, our food. Shunned. The intimate courtship of love, sex and death – a fading art. A sin even.
For years we arrive and depart from inside each other, thrusting in and out. Flesh against flesh, in a desperate reach towards feeling anything at all. Uncontemplative copulation, contact without contact. Climax without Orgasm.

I see anguish, hatred, war, and poison. I see suffering, in a world that advocates killing but refuses to acknowledge that death exists as anything but an affliction. I see all that is natural, all that is us, being crucified and resurrected, wrapped in plastic and artificially manufactured by emaciated milky eyed children younger than my own.
And then sold back to us; lacquered, sterilized. For our safety.

That blasted blanket statement of a word, Safety. I do not feel safe in this world, and I would be brazen in assuming that neither do you. Yet I harbour such a huge fucking adoration for this little blue marble, despite that ever-present same ache threatens to consume me. When I saturated in it’s darkness I cannot help but imagine and skirt on understanding the actions of political self immolation – because this fire under my skin threatens to ignite. The fire of passion, what a fearsome tool to behold.
I am angry, and I am scared, I am in pain but more so than anything I still am so damn in that love. With you, with all of this, or rather what all of this could be; and if I could I would turn it off, but that didn’t work before and it certainly wouldn’t work now. A tidal rush of intensity breaking down the makeshift dam of indifference. Wild hearts do not take well to being confined.

So I cannot go on, yet I continue on because anything else would be a lie – tiresome and meager. I am broke but not broken, I am female bodied but not weak, I am invisible in the eyes of the government but prominent in the eyes of my peers, and this pushes me to go on, even though by all means of logic I cannot.
Logic, safety, ache. These are all subjective. And every day for the past week the eagles have been circling my house, a bat sputtered around my home in graceful disarray, and a finch died quietly in my hands. I watched my daughter sing joyfully on stage, my house later this evening will be filled with the laughter of like-minded loved ones – loved ones that also ache, that also cannot go on – but will anyhow.
As long as I can live in a world with eagles, bats, singing and like-minded hearts I will have love.
This is not the nonchalant white picket fence do nothing as the world burns type of love, nor is it the violent extremist rubber bullets and homemade bombs type of love. It’s a love that doesn’t exist in-between them, but in-fact beyond them, not despite them but because of them.

In response to the times we are in, something beautiful and furious has arisen. Something in you and I that may stand to redefine revolution as a whole.
So I have love, and it tends to the colossal loneliness, the crippling doubt, and the fear of that lingering encompassing ache.
This love whispers to me

“You ache? Good, you are fortunate for the reminder of the state of things. That that ache and make it your power, take that power and make it your gift”
-but damn, some days; somedays are harder than others.

So what is Humanity? Some would say adolescent, destructive, tantrum prone, regressive by force. Call me radical, foolish or idealistic but instead I -in the spirit of my “Post-Jadedness”- choose to ask “what it could be?’ and to see what it IS in smaller circles – That is what utterly enchants me and keeps me going on and on and on.
It is the beauty. That of which we are collectively and individually capable of – And to be in service to beauty’s progress is a damn fine place to be; ache and all.

Through raw omission & unpolished memory they walk on, years on
sentimental etymology— it sighs
never forget me,
never
Hearts kissed with blue bruises
each a keepsake ostending“you’ve done well, now go on”

years on
beyond the binds of “good” and “bad” – clear of their fostered paradigm
lays a village sown
Hearts bruised purple from souls diligence
two elements taming a story
walk on, years on

lips surface to a gasp
and exclaim“we are fire and water, and we will not be broken”

what fire turned
this tidal flow to stone what sent them a voice to roam
without the ribs
that serve to block eminence
drowning on the throne

Years on,
Paradoxal counterparts
Crafting a call
Purple and blue nebula mutiply
strewn across an interwoven vascular chamber
each one
a reminder – for years on

Through out my exploration through life I have personally been practicing various forums of ethical (ish) pre-scripted forms of non monogamy since 2008 – I have struggled with self doubt, self hatred, a lack of support, violent rebellion, self inflicted exile and deep grief in the loss of a sense of self that followed.
My attempts at being Polyamorous were founded on the same broken concept at my attempts at being Monogamous – ill-fitted scripted narratives and a lack of community.
So just as I was a failed monogamist, I became a failed polyamorist.

I had to loose everything and become what I felt was completely broken in 2011 to understand that I needed to restructure and rebuild something unparalleled and unprecedented – custom to my timeline, my desires and the community of which I so deeply felt called to nourish. I needed to be broken to see the reality of what endurance could lead to – a loyalty to love, a reestablished idea of devotion, and a strength in my story – and what would later become an intertwined shared story.

My deepest desire in the willingness to share my life and this so called “alternative” form of relation is to encourage the expression and excavation of personal and cultural truth. To lead by example not the front lines of Non-Monogamy – but a world postpoly/postmono where Humans are emboldened to practice Love in the model of which that is truest for them in their “now”.
I desire a time where whether we love or share a partnership with one, two, many or none that we’re encouraged to be in relationships that are in service to something outside of just the relationship it’s self – abolishing the deep underbelly of escapism via interpersonal connection.
I crave collective where your worth as an individual is not put in to question on account of being different – but in fact a culture where diversity fuels it’s flourishing advance.
I long for a world where sensual/creative/emotional/intellectual/passionate connection isn’t shamed or subject to a warped sense of guilt laden secrecy; where it’s encouraged to flow naturally as it unfolds, as opposed to attempting to shove it into a narrative that outdates it’s unique rise, expansion and evolution.

My Core partnership is not under any sort of strain or onslaught by these choices to live a life which asks our upmost allegiance to honesty. Neither him or I has a limited or finite source of adoration, so in all logic any perceived “threat” is only rooted in the echo of a time where a binary form of relation was the only one taught – an old story of love to which no longer fits the times we are in. This does not mean there is no jealousy or fall backs into the stories that we grew up in. Our relationship has not always been been an easy adventure, and it will not suddenly become as such – nor would I want it to.
Partnership, Love and Relationships take skillfulness, and skillfulness generally requires trial and error.
Regardless of and in correlation to that I have never lived a more fulfilling and awe inducing Partnership, our ability to challenge each other, encourage growth, and continue on in the form that best serves us and our community leaves me in a constant grateful state of deep love for all that is him and I.
Beyond “Good” and “Bad” – Every dark and light moment has been crucial to our process of becoming.

“I said to the sun, ‘Tell me about the big bang.’ The sun said, ‘it hurts to become.”

I want so vehemently to live a life of authentic love, fierce devotion and continued progression that dares others to live their truth, to fully examine their and their kin’s desires, boundaries and the full spectrum of their psyche – to demonstrate a courageous form of love and community that includes all walks of life: the unabashed and multifarious gamut of humanness.
Perhaps we are radical dreamers, but if I have learned anything thus far I have learned that we sure as hell are not alone on this untrodden journey into fearless brazen amorousness.

I dare you to be truthful, authentic and responsible in your Love – with each and every individual that you hold with sweet regard – I dare you to fully exist in service to the morphogenic field of adoration of which surrounds you.

I dare you to pontificate on what it would look like to have your life’s actions be collectively in service to love.

It’s violet dusk
Fogged mirrors,
smudged from so many fingers
-yet
Sometimes I wonder,
is the elucidation that leads to lull
to stop loving
so profoundly?
An allegiance to sovereignty
offering over an estranged immunity
My eyes have seen pneuma’s secret
ships of bated breath
sailing in to the horizon

forever and a day ago
in the wild blue yonder
those same eyes
– like vines, reaching towards
idealistic skies
If you could see, those eyes now
their skeletal remembrance
radical dreams, cosmic pools of rumination
a whirlwind portal in to
a tapestry
depicting
– Bullets wrapped exquisitely with silken bows

Sensation has become habit
I have feathers scattered across my insides
some call it wanderlust
a vestige of wings
residuum
torn to shreds
a longing for flight
and taking that hunger to heart
I start again
-and again and again

I’ll sail out each night
and examine the relation between them-
-the sea, the moon and the shore – capricious paramours
listening intently to the ocean’s song
the moonlights hum.
and the shore’s sigh
the tide caressing her body, and she taking him back
over and over
the moon exulting her influence
I observe in awe
with both pity and envy; I venture on

To live with the stars
as dust
to search for the mysterious maybes,
and the probabilities of perhaps
to hold on
&
to surrender to letting go
to everything I couldn’t epitomize
then
I simply pursue the words
a tender wind that dances upon
the lovers tussle
their blues gone grey at the dawns first light
—